La Frigida Solare
by GirloftheArts
Summary: When your heart is thrown back to you in peices, is it even possible to move on? Angst. One Shot. Reborn/ OC centric.


I do not own KHR. I do, however, own my unfortunate OC

It was a cool, still evening. A blue-white wash of moonlight danced over the landscape, casting deep shadows on the house and wooded expanse below. The normally active night noise of the native wildlife was tensely hushed, and the silence was only broken by the near inaudible sighs and rustlings of the home's sole occupant as she perched in an open window, overlooking the winding drive below, and the implacable ticking of a clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Ding-dong-ding!

Three thirty. Five hours since _he_ had been ordered home to his wife after an extended mission, with his boss's personal apologies to her at the late hour. Five more hours of waiting added to the seven _weeks_ since Nicola had last seen her husband.

Tick. Tick. Tick-tock. Three thirty-one.

Another soft sigh. She leaned her head back against cool wood and stared blankly at the partially obscured sky.

_Where had they gone wrong?_

A soft rustling of her silk nightgown as it slid across her lap, her body shifting restlessly. Her gaze was once again drawn to the single ruby earring on the lamp table next to her, the gem's subtle twinkle mocking her.

She _loathed_ rubies.

A too-thin ran through thick chestnut hair for the tenth time that night, pushing the curling strands away from her weary face.

Absently her eyes scanned the room once more, lingering on the pictures and mementos with bittersweet remembrance. Her personal study was connected to the master suite and decked in soothing blues and greens, cottons and silks. It had been a wedding present from her ever-thoughtful father.

Eventually Nicola locked gazes with herself, reflected from a simple mirror directly across the room from her, as to let in the most light.

Was that fragile, doll-like thing really her? Heavy, dark hair framed glassy teal eyes in a wan, thin face, her expression twisted into a self-mocking parody of a smile.

The moonlight caused her to look like a ghostly apparition, shrouded in white silk.

When had her vitality left her? How that indomitable spirit been broken?

The reflected Nicola twisted into someone else, a not-too-distant memory.

Glossy hair spilled over a plump, elegant shoulder, her ever amused blue-green eyes gleamed and that crooked little smile on her lips was full of decadent promise. Her whole countenance was radiant and vivacious.

The specter she had become _was_ a pale imitation.

Tick. Tick-tock. Tick.

Three thirty-six.

To quell that little part of her, holding onto all the hope, trust, and love she had left, she pulled the numbness hovering inside around tightly her heart.

A cut, dry case. All those little, troubling things in their relationship had added up to something much bigger, especially when combined with the pieces of jewelry seen here and there, and the mentions of his friends seeing him at this and that event, that she'd never heard about. His long absences, completely unrelated to work. He'd stopped wearing his wedding band and had been coolly mocking of her affection. And then when she'd mentioned his recent distance around a few of their old friends, she'd looked them in the eyes and seen the pity, compassion and…

Guilt. But then, her husband _was_ awfully persuasive…

Of course, Nicola thought with an amused smile, if _he_ really didn't want her to know, she would've never suspected.

He's been sloppy.

Was this some lark to prove he was still at the top of his game? Was he testing her? Was something wrong?

Or did he just no longer care?

The numbness fled, leaving her frame wracked with violent shudders.

It had been a long six months.

Wrapping her arms around her still shaking frame, Nicola looked back out the window into the still night.

Tick-tock. Tick. Tick.

Three forty.

Nicola's shaking, internalized sobs finally subsided, leaving an unnatural stillness in its wake; her whole presence frozen in that single moment of a painful choice.

She could be waiting for the rest of her life.

Or…?

Slowly, Nicola unfolded her limbs from the window sill and carefully stood, one hand tightly gripping the wall. She turned her face to the sky, eyes closed, and enjoyed the cool breeze for a few moments, reveling in the sense of freedom it brought her.

And then, she deliberately drew the curtain.

Tick. Tick-Tock.

Three forty-one.

Somewhere across Italy, the recently cursed Sun Arcobaleno finally looked away from the Leon-Cam after a six and a half week vigil, with a suspicious gleam of pained regret in his dark eyes. Pulling his fedora, a favored gift from Nicola, down over his eyes, Reborn once again mourned his lose.


End file.
